


Chemical Imbalance

by Allikizme



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sex Pollen, aphrodisiac, everyone's horny, i looked up an australian slang for boner for this fic, it's a sex pollen fic, it's not period accurate but i did my best, it's not pollen though it's a chemical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 06:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12205806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allikizme/pseuds/Allikizme
Summary: There's an aphrodisiac. Everyone's exposed. People get it on.





	Chemical Imbalance

Jack pursed his lips and leaned against the wooden laboratory table. The body on the floor before him was that of fifty-year-old Mason Woodridge. The man was a chemist, and had, from the look of things, gotten into some money troubles with the wrong sort. A quick search had turned up bank statements, menacing notes, and a drawer full of rather unsavory pornographic magazines. Apparently, Mr. Woodridge was a certifiable pervert.

The _tok-tok_ of heels on the wooden floor outside the office allowed Jack to heave the sigh he had been saving just for this moment. Enter Miss Phryne Fisher, in a flamboyant emerald dress and matching hat. Just how many hats did she own? She smiled and untied a pearl-colored scarf from about her neck with white-gloved hands.

“Miss Fisher,” said Jack. “Why am I not surprised.”

“It’d be more surprising if you were surprised,” she replied. “What’s happened?”

Jack sighed again. “A man has dropped dead, most likely because of the bullet wound in his head, but, well, I’d like you to confirm.”

Phryne gave him a look. “Any clues as to why?”

“Do you have a particular interest in this case, Miss Fisher?”

She produced a magazine from her handbag with such vivacity it was clear she had been just waiting for him to ask. “Not personally, no, but seeing as Mr. Woodridge was working on some rather vital forensic evidence in a national case, I figured there must be something interesting here.”

Jack looked at the magazine article, which explained that Mr. Woodridge was doing some experimental testing about the murder of a politician’s young daughter. They were hoping he would be able to identify something about the ink found on the girl’s skin.

Jack closed the pages. “Interesting.”

Miss Fisher had succeeded in her distraction and was poking about the many vials and beakers sitting on the lab table. Jack managed to not roll his eyes as he joined her. “What could you possibly be looking for.”

Phryne said, “I suppose I’ll know it when I see it.” She sniffed at a beaker. “Or smell it.” Carefully, but not as carefully as Jack would have liked, she lifted the beaker and held it before him. “What does that smell like to you?”

Jack sniffed. “It smells like…” He frowned. “Like lavender, I suppose.”

Phryne looked at him. “No, I’m wearing lavender. Try again.”

Jack took another whiff. And… no. Still lavender. And maybe a hint of mint. “I only smell lavender. Why? What do you smell?”

Miss Fisher chuckled and placed it back on the table. “Certainly not laven—.” She gasped, because the beaker had missed the table and, with a crash, now lay in pieces on the floor, with its contents spilt.

Jack gave Miss Fisher a look that was getting too comfortable on his face. “I think you’ve done enough damage around here, Miss Fisher.” He pulled out his kerchief and knelt down to mop up the mess.

Phryne did as well. “I’m so sorry, Jack, I don’t know what happened. I just.” She frowned. “I missed the table.”

“It’s all right,” he said. The lavender was a bit overwhelming, but, well, he liked it. “I’m sure he wasn’t poisoned with perfume before the bullet.”

Phryne nodded. She helped him clean up the spilt perfume and they squeezed their respective kerchiefs out over the bin. Then she removed her gloves and looked about. Jack leaned against the table, watching her. She was distracted, it seemed, whipping the kerchief about while looking on, toward the body, the light from the window hitting her cheekbones in a lovely way, and the rouge of her lips contrasting rather nicely with the white of her skin, and the black of her hair.

And she smelled like lavender…

Jack kept staring. Miss Fisher was not a modest woman. She was striking, and sexual, and she embraced that. Yet Jack was thinking about the turn of her wrist, about pressing his lips to that delicate skin. About those collarbones revealed to him by her neckline. About the way her scarf had run across her neck as she pulled it off earlier. About her rouge lips…

Phryne glanced at him. “Something the matter, Inspector?”

Jack went for a retort—he always had something ready with her—but stopped short. Something, he realized, was _definitely_ the matter. Specifically in his trousers. Specifically between his legs.

Jack Robinson was at a crime scene, and he had an erection.

Miss Fisher fixed him with an enquiring look, her eyes traveling down his body. Jack immediately straightened up. For the first time in a very long time, he was hot and bothered. And _at a crime scene,_ no less _._ He cleared his throat. Miss Fisher’s eyes jumped back to his. But something in her expression had changed. Her cheeks had pinkened. Her eyes were wide.

Oh _fuck._ She knew.

“Miss Fisher,” Jack said, in the plainest voice he could manage. “I think I should continue this investigation without your help. If I find anything, I’ll call you.” He gestured to the door.

Phryne cocked her head. “I think, Inspector,” she said, her voice soft, “that this case is no longer my priority.”

Jack found he had a rather large lump in his throat. “Really,” he said.

“Yes.”

The one word made Jack’s knees weak. He said, “And what is?”

She stepped closer to him. “You are.”

Jack felt her breath on his lips. There was the mint. Goosebumps went down his spine, and his cock twitched. Miss Fisher bit her bottom lip and lidded her eyes.

“This is a crime scene,” Jack whispered, and some part of him knew that was an issue, a real excuse, but it was far and away.

“The only crime,” Miss Fisher said, “is wanting you every day I see you, and never taking you to my bed.”

His cock was straining in his trousers now. Phryne glanced down at it trying to bridge the gap between them and smiled. Oh, lord. She was sultry, and beautiful, and making his blood boil just by standing close. She was a dangerous woman. He was desperate for her.

Jack swallowed, but his throat was dry. “This is a crime scene,” he said again, His collar was strangling him.

“Do you want me, Jack?” she said. Her breath ghosted his face and made him shudder.

He said, “Yes.”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to take me?”

Jack made a fist in one hand and bent the brim on his hat with the other. “Oh god yes.”

“Then what,” she breathed, “are you waiting for?”

Before Jack could even think, he closed the distance between them and caught her mouth with his own. She tasted like mint, sweet and cool. He ran his tongue against hers and drank it in. She kissed him back, holding his face with her bare hands. He gripped her waist and pulled her flush against him. God, it felt good to feel her, to hold her, that soft, curvy body on his. She lifted a leg and he rushed a hand from the bottom of her calf up her thigh. She gasped, and Jack felt like a new man, with a new purpose. Nothing mattered except making her gasp like that again.

He picked her up and set her on a table. Some books fell off the other side, but that was of little importance. He had made his way to her ear and she liked that quite a lot. Her hand was undoing his belt and trousers, and she found his cock big and throbbing against his pants. She touched him, her skin cool and smooth, and Jack moaned. He couldn’t help it. He hadn’t been touched by a woman in so long. Phryne kissed him silent. Jack’s hand found her naked under her slip, which excited him all the more. In the curls between her legs he found the heart of her, slick and wet. He rubbed his thumb on her most sensitive spot and was rewarded with another gasp and a maddening grip on his suit jacket.

Phryne scooted closer to the edge of the table. Her hand guided him closer, and she broke their kiss to watch his face as he penetrated her.

It was rapturous. She was hot and wet and took him in one thrust. He put an arm around her back and held her by the hips, and fucked her like he’d never fucked anyone in all his life. She made breathy, quiet sounds, like she didn’t mean to make any, and couldn’t help these ones. Jack’s whole body felt electric. There was pleasure in places he didn’t know could feel it—his fingertips, his cheeks, the back of his neck.

Suddenly, Phryne clung to him. Her folds tightened around him, and she made a noise like heaven itself. Jack was panting, trying to keep going through this absolute vice grip on his cock. He made, it but only just. Phryne had barely come down from her high when his pleasure mounted and burst from him so intensely, he saw white. He bit at her bare shoulder to keep from crying out, and came inside her in several hard, stuttered thrusts.

They were both left breathing heavy. Jack pulled his softened cock out of her and gazed upon her. She was a sight. A messy, disheveled, heavenly sight. She hopped off the table, only to find her legs unstable. She held on for balance and fixed her skirt.

“That was…” she panted, and she smiled.

Jack nodded. He felt incredibly good. “Yeah,” he said. “It was.”

Phryne said, “You’d better. Um.” She reached out and tucked his cock back in his pants, and did up his trousers for him. “There.”

Jack grinned. He really hadn’t been this happy in ages. “Thank you, Miss Fisher.”

She gave him a satisfied look. “It was my pleasure, Inspector.”

Jack turned around, prepared to invite Miss Fisher to a very nice dinner, when he saw the body.

And remembered where they were.

Jack felt all the blood drain from his face. “This is a crime scene,” he said.

Miss Fisher looked at him, then looked at the body. “Oh my god,” she said. “That. We. Oh. Oh dear.”

Jack cleared his throat. Was the door locked? Or even… fully closed? _Fuck._ How could he have done this? What the _fuck_ was wrong with him?

“Well, um, Inspector Robinson,” said Phryne—Miss Fisher. She tucked her hair behind her ears. Her cheeks were blood red, and her expression lofty. “I. I have an appointment.”

Jack just stared at her. He was seeing his badge on the commissioner’s desk, his name in the papers as the cop who had trumped up a crime scene by shagging on it. Dear god, he’d better solve this case before the day was over or he’d shame himself out of a job.

Miss Fisher looked him up and down, and apparently didn’t find what she was looking for. She straightened her hat and marched out of the apartment.

* * *

 

Miss Fisher came home looking flustered. Dot was just setting tea out for Cec and Bert when she entered.

“Everything all right, miss?” Dot asked.

“Oh, fine, fine,” replied Miss Fisher. “I just. I need a bath, I think.”

Dot smiled. “I’ll go run that for you, then.”

With Miss Fisher comfortably in the tub, Dot gathered her clothes. “Shall I wash these for you, miss?”

“Hm? Oh, certainly, Dot. Thank you. You’re a dear.”

Dot smiled again. She was always happy to help Miss Fisher.

Back downstairs, Cec and Bert had finished off nearly all the scones. “She all right then?” asked Bert.

“Oh yes. It must’ve been a trying crime scene, I expect,” Dot replied. She dropped Miss Fisher’s clothes in her washing basket and began inspecting them for stains. “How were the scones, boys?”

Cec beamed. “Lovely as ever, Dottie.”

Dot nodded, but was distracted when she touched something damp amongst Miss Fisher’s things. She pulled out her lady’s kerchief, and caught a waft of… fresh laundry, and honey, and hair product. “What on earth’s this?”

“Looks like a kerchief,” said Bert. He and Cec snickered.

“No, I mean, what’s the smell on it?” Dot brought it to her nose and inhaled. “It smells lovely.”

“It does?” Cec reached out. “Let’s smell it.”

“It’s not right sniffin’ a lady’s things,” Bert snapped.

“Oh, no, you must smell it, it’s divine.” Dot held it out and Cec snatched it.

“Smells like…” Cec sniffed it again. “Smells like baking, I suppose. Vanilla.” He inhaled again, deeper. “It’s… wonderful, actually.”

“No, it smells like honey,” Dot replied. “I didn’t smell any vanilla. You’ve had too many scones.”

“All right.” Bert took the cloth from Cec and smelled. He scowled. “Smells like grease,” he said. “Nothin’ special ‘bout that.” He smelled again. “Although, uh, it’s rather nice, innit?”

Dot sat down at the table, her washing forgotten, and took the kerchief back. She buried her face in it. “I’ve never smelt anything so wonderful,” she sighed. “It’s like all my favorite things in one.”

“How do you think it smells different to each of us?” Cec wondered.

Bert put an entire scone in his mouth. “Dunno,” he said, muffled.

Dot felt rather warm and fuzzy. Her mind drifted over to the handsome young constable at the station. She thought of him standing at his desk, his uniform buttoned all the way up. But it’s a hot day, she thought. Maybe he’s undone a few buttons. Maybe he’s… taken off the jacket altogether.

She was starting to feel a little too warm. She pulled off her cardigan and let it drop onto the floor. She shifted, rubbing her legs together.

“Oi, Cec,” Bert said. “Are you… feelin’ strange too?”

“No, not really,” Cec said. “I’m feeling really, really good, actually.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder, smiling rather dopily.

Bert looked at him and started to smile too. “Yeah,” he said. “I suppose I am too.” He took Cec’s hand from his shoulder and placed it on his leg. “I think I… I’d like to…” He trailed off. “Cec, come with me.”

“Hm? All right.”

Bert dragged Cec out of the kitchen, and Dot noticed their trousers were looking rather tight. It convinced her hand to settle between her legs.

“Dorothy!” called Mr. Butler. Dot barely reacted. “A Mr. Collins, here to see you!”

“I’m in the kitchen!” Dot called. Oh, Hugh. That was _exactly_ who she wanted to see. With all his buttons…

Hugh entered the kitchen, holding his helmet, all smiles. “Hi Dottie,” he said. “You all right?”

“Oh yes, I’m wonderful. I was just thinking about you.”

Hugh beamed. “I was thinking about you too.” He cleared his throat. “But the inspector sent me to let Miss Fisher know his findings at the crime scene.”

“Oh, she’s having a bath right now,” Dot said. She stood up and walked around the table. “Won’t you… have a seat?”

Hugh glanced at the table. “All right then. I’ll wait.”

Dot followed him to his chair, her movements slow and languid. Hugh said, “Something the matter, Dot?”

“Oh no,” Dot said. “No, not at all. In fact, I feel _wonderful._ ” She draped an arm over his shoulder. “Aren’t you hot, constable? It’s got to be quite stuffy in that uniform.”

“Well, I—.”

“Let me… help you out of it.” Dot’s fingers expertly undid the top three buttons of the constable’s coat.

Hugh grabbed her hand, looking frightened. “What’s going on?” he cried.

Dot swung a leg over the chair and seated herself in his lap. “Let’s pretend we’re married,” she whispered. “I’d like to know you in the physical way.”

Hugh’s hands were raised so as not to touch her indecently. “This isn’t like you,” he stuttered. “Dot. Dot!”

“I’ll go to confession right after,” Dot murmured. She began grinding herself on his lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him.

It was more furious a kiss than ever they’d done. He smelled like his hair product, and honey tea, and the laundry soap of his clean uniform. Dot was hungry for him. She wanted him in a way she didn’t know she could, but _god._ Nothing had ever felt like this before.

Hugh scooted the chair back and stood up. Dot nearly fell over, but he steadied her. “Look, Dot. If… if you really want to do this, fine. We’ll t-talk about it. But this isn’t like you at all. You need to go lie down.”

“Dot?”

Hugh said, “Oh thank god, Miss Fisher!”

Miss Fisher entered the kitchen and gasped. “What the hell is going on here?!” She rushed over and pulled Dot away from Hugh, her expression livid.

“She’s drugged or something, miss!” Hugh cried. Miss Fisher glanced at his trousers, and Hugh grabbed his helmet to hold in front of them. “Something’s wrong with her. She wanted… she wanted to pretend we were married.”

Miss Fisher turned on Dot. “Is this true?”

Dot blinked a few times. “I’m feeling very unchristian tonight, miss,” she said. She gave Miss Fisher one hell of a look. “If he’s not interested, I hope you might be.”

Hugh went redder than an apple. “I’d better go, miss,” he said. “Let me know if she feels better.” He exited the kitchen but paused at the front door. “You should call the inspector, ma’am. He has some news about the crime scene that might interest you.” Then he left.

With the door closed, Miss Fisher turned back to Dot. “What on earth’s come over you, child?”

“Oh, miss, I’m _unfulfilled_ ,” Dot said dramatically. “I want to _feel_ like a woman. I want to know what it’s like with those men you take up to your bedroom. I’m so—.”She leaned against the doorway. “I’d better lie down.”

“Yes, I think you should.” Miss Fisher walked her to the stairs. “Where are Cec and Bert?”

“They went to the toilet together, I think.” Dot leaned in, her grin wicked. “They were both a bit _fat_.”

“Dot!” Phryne cried. “Where did you learn such language?”

Dot giggled. “I’d better lay down.” She made her way rather woozily up the stairs.

Phryne looked around. She couldn’t believe she was going looking for Cec and Bert in her own home. And that they were maybe having sex. Cec and Bert! Cec was engaged! And Bert, who… well, actually, Phryne had no idea what he liked. If he liked anything at all.

She crept up to the downstairs lavatory. The door was closed, like normal. It seemed rather quiet, like normal. She knocked on the door.

“Occupied,” came a voice.

Phryne jumped. “Bert?” she said. “Is that you? Is… is Cec in there with you?”

“…I am, miss.”

Phryne’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Well. All right then. Carry on.” She winced. Carry on? She hurried away from the door to give them privacy.

Dear god, she thought. Everyone’s gone mad. First her and Jack at the crime scene (a _crime scene!_ ), then Dot trying to jump poor Hugh, and now Cec and Bert getting it on in her lavatory! What the hell was happening?

Phryne found herself in the kitchen. They’d all been sitting here. She eyed the scones suspiciously. Something they ate, maybe. But she and Jack certainly hadn’t had any scones. Then she looked at the table and saw her handkerchief. It still smelled like Jack’s aftershave.

Which… Phryne liked a lot. And Jack had said it smelled like lavender. Phryne blinked. Now that she thought about it, she was willing to bet it smelled different to the other three too. Could it be that she had knocked over an aphrodisiac?

 She rushed to the telephone. “Hello, Jack? It’s Phryne.”

Jack sighed. “ _What can I do for you, Miss Fisher?_ ”

“Look, Jack, I know what happened was absolutely inappropriate, but it wasn’t our fault.”

“ _And how’s that._ ”

“The beaker I broke. It was an aphrodisiac.”

“ _…a what._ ”

“Something that makes sex irresistible and—.”

“ _No, I—I know what it is, I just._ ” He sighed again. “ _How did you figure this out?_ ”

“My handkerchief was soaked in the chemical. And my house has become a hormonal cesspool.”

“ _A hormonal—._ ”

“Everyone’s fucking, Jack.”

“ _Yes, I got that._ ”

Phryne couldn’t resist. “Want to come over and make it two more?”

“ _Miss Fisher, what happened today was absolutely irresponsible and inappropriate. Chemical or not. And I—._ ” Jack broke off.

Phryne said, “Jack?”

“ _I think I’ve solved the case._ ” The line went dead.

**Author's Note:**

> this is ending here because idk wtf is the crime and how jack solved it so i'll work on that
> 
> apparently "crack a fat" is australian for "get an boner", so that's why Dot says they're fat. if anyone actually australian has better terminology for me i'd love to hear it.


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